Perk of the Job
by Welsh mama
Summary: My contribution to the Tom/Sybil Secret Santa fic exchange, which has now expanded to a multi chapter story. Sybil is employed in a Ripon coffee shop in an effort to save for university. This is her and Tom's story: from spilt coffee and sparkling antlers to meeting each other's families and their ensuing separation when she departs for her studies.
1. Chapter 1

_**Here is my contribution to the Secret Santa fic. exchange, written for Darlingsybil.**_

_**Prompt: One-shot - Coffee shop AU modern where Sybil works at a café (her first job) and Tom is a regular customer**_

_**Specific: Sybil spilling coffee over Tom**_

_**To those who celebrate – Have a very Merry Christmas! To everyone - I wish you a Happy and Peaceful New Year!**_

* * *

**One year earlier**

Sybil glared defiantly at her father as he stood glowering in front of the fireplace. She would not conform to his vision of her future and now seemed as good a time as any to make her position firmly clear.

"I don't want the kind of life that Mary and Edith have chosen." she explained slowly, trying very hard to omit the quiver in her voice which was threatening to betray her instinctive anxiety. "I don't care about being part of the social scene in London, I don't want to be photographed in _'Hello'_ magazine on a frequent basis. I want to do something useful!"

"How dare you suggest that your sisters' employment is in some way redundant…" Her father's face was beginning to turn pink once again, a sure sign that he was becoming increasingly hostile to her plans. It also indicated that his blood pressure was rising and that in turn would worry her mother, who Sybil felt might possibly conspire with her after careful persuasion.

"Of course not, Daddy. They're both very good at what they do and they love the lifestyle each brings, but I just feel that I've got different talents and I want to use them." She took a deep breath and fleetingly clenched her fists in order to draw strength before continuing. "I want to nurse and the only way to do that is to get a nursing degree. I'm not asking you to financially support me. My plan is to take a year out and work to save some money, then get student loans to cover the rest. I'm serious about it – this is something that I've wanted to do for a long time and I'm not going to be persuaded otherwise. My UCAS forms have to be submitted next week and I'm putting down Brighton as my first choice."

"Brighton…" her father sputtered in dismay, turning away from her and raising his fist to his forehead.

"Yes. The course has a very good reputation and the graduate statistics speak for themselves. I realise it wouldn't be your preference, but it's the right choice for me and after all…I'll only be just over an hour away on the train from Mary and Edith."

The strategic decision to involve her sisters in her argument provided the persuasion she required. Although they had followed a more traditional path for daughters of an hereditary peer – Mary gained a first at St Andrews in History of Art and was rising through the ranks at Christies Auction House, Edith had a 2:1 from Oxford in Eng. Lit and was currently interning at a leading publishing firm – they were equally supportive of Sybil's desire for independence and had offered their backing in her inevitable domestic battle.

Two days later, her father offered a truce. "Prove to me that this isn't a passing fad." he said earnestly. "Go and spend the summer with your Grandmother in Vermont as planned, but then come back and learn what hard work entails. If you can save half of your first year's tuition fees – that's four and a half thousand pounds, I might add – by the end of the following summer, then I'll provide you with the remainder during your course and a living allowance too. Show me your commitment and you'll go with my blessing."

Sybil's heart leapt at his unexpected conciliation. Regardless of his conservative opinions and constraints, she loved her father deeply and understood that ultimately he wanted her to be happy and successful, even if he believed that the two were more likely to be achieved alongside society life and an advantageous marriage.

"Thank you, Daddy. I promise I won't let you down."

**Present Day**

Sybil offered a beaming smile at her first customer, while her Manager Janine stood solemnly in observation behind her.

"Skinny latte with an amaretto shot" said the tight lipped woman who stood before her, fiddling with the change in her purse, and Sybil cleared her throat with nerves as she turned to face the bewildering range of options displayed on the gleaming stainless steel coffee machine. Fingers working apprehensively, she listened to Janine's murmured prompt and heard the satisfying hiss of steaming water pour into the waiting cup.

"There you are!" Janine smiled encouragingly after payment had been taken and the customer had moved to a nearby table. "First one down, you're away now!" Sybil nodded with a grateful smile. It was late November and she had returned home from her extended visit to the US almost a month earlier. For a short while she had feared that her good intentions to work and save would be undermined by the shortage of local employment opportunities available. However, fortunately the approaching festive season had provided new openings and she had now committed to five days a week in an independent coffee shop in Ripon, in addition to a weekly shift as a volunteer at a residential care home on the outskirts of Downton. The Earl of Grantham could have no doubt as to his youngest daughter's pledge towards hard work, regardless of his disapproval at such a public setting.

"Here comes trouble!" announced Janine, her broad smile suggesting an opposing sentiment as she reached out to take a sheet of paper from the next customer. Broad shouldered, his fingers were darkly stained and as Sybil looked up to offer a polite smile, friendly blue eyes twinkled at her.

"Hello!" he said with a grin and she heard the hint of an accent more exotic than Yorkshire.

"This is Sybil, it's her first day." Janine explained, before adding in a nonchalant tone. "Rob not in today, then? No latte?"

"He's got this week off…" the customer replied with a smirk. "…but I'll tell him that you were asking."

Janine turned away and ran a hand roughly through her hair. "I was just checking that you hadn't missed one" she said hurriedly and the young man unexpectedly gave Sybil a conspiratorial wink.

She busied herself making two teas while her colleague took care of the remainder of the list and smiled again as the man leant casually against the counter with a folded twenty pound note held vertically between his fingers.

"I'm Tom…" he offered while she handed out his change. "I work at the garage round the corner in Broad Street, so I'm in most days." He slid the money back into the pocket of his trousers and grinned once again – an expression exuding confidence, but without any obvious hint of entwined arrogance in its manner.

"See you soon!" he called cheerfully after taking the cardboard tray from her grasp and striding towards the door.

His parting comment was fitting and Sybil swiftly came to include Tom in her mental list of regular customers. On some days his attendance was substituted by one of his colleagues and the re-appearance of Rob the following week was easily clarified by Janine's flustered manner and effusive gesturing. But Sybil always felt cheered by Tom's arrival and enjoyed the light-hearted nature of his banter and Irish brogue.

"So are you new to Ripon, Sybil or just to the café?" he asked a week or so later, while she was creating the statutory chocolate heart on the froth of his colleague's hot chocolate.

"Just to the job. I'm local." she replied, deliberately vague with her explanation. The address on her CV had given away her family background to Janine, but she had stressed her desire to keep it hidden from other members of staff as well as customers and had strictly forbidden her parents from coming in to see how she was getting on. Experience had already proved that a reveal of her official title and family's status often altered others' personal perception of her and she was determined to maintain relative anonymity to any fleeting acquatintances.

"Right, so do you go out with your mates in Ripon then?" he asked lightly, offering the first hint that his friendly chat might be more exclusive than she had first imagined.

"Well I actually live in Downton, not Ripon" she explained.

"Nice little village…" he replied "…I've only driven through it, but it looks very pretty."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Yes, I suppose so."

"But boring? Rather limited social options?" he suggested and she laughed.

"Just a bit, yes. The Grantham Arms – that's it."

"But surely you hit the bright lights of Ripon now and again?"

"Um…" she hesitated while she considered the most appropriate answer. "…I didn't go to school round here, so my friends are dotted around all over the place…" Silently she willed him not to make further enquires about her education, reluctant to admit to having attended one of the country's most prestigious boarding schools. "…but when my sisters are home, then yes we go out here, or occasionally in York…"

Before Tom could open his mouth to enquire further, she swiftly turned the tables with her own line of questioning. "And what brought you to Yorkshire?"

"Work" he replied simply and shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much of it in Ireland at the moment, even though you'd think that people would always need their cars fixed. But I was made redundant from my last place and then a mate got a job as a chef at The Angel Hotel here, so I thought I'd tag along with him. And here I am. In work and with a roof over my head, so I can't complain."

"But you'd like to go back home eventually?" she asked

"One day. But I'm not in any hurry. It's good to see somewhere else for a while, don't you think? Or are you planning to spend the rest of your days in Yorkshire?"

"Oh no…" Sybil shook her head rapidly and told him about her university plans, omitting any mention of her parents' objection and the preferred career trajectory for their offspring.

"Oh that's grand!" Tom effused, nodding his head up and down. "Education provides you with freedom. Coffee shops and garages might pay the bills, but I'd like to think there's something more out there, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely!" Sybil agreed and they exchanged a conspiratorial smile.

"I envy you…" Tom added "…I'd have liked to go to university, but circumstances meant that it wasn't possible. I've started an OU course though, so hopefully I'll get my degree eventually, but I'm sure I'd have enjoyed the whole uni experience."

"So why…" Sybil's curiosity was curtailed by Janine who hissed "Customers!" in her ear and brought the conversation to an abrupt stop.

"Sorry if I've got you into trouble" Tom said softly as he picked up his drinks and prepared to leave.

"Don't be" she replied earnestly with a heartfelt wish that they could continue their conversation. Now that she knew his ambitions lay further afield than his current profession, a niggling thought was bothering her. "So, do you hate your job?" she asked quickly, stepping backwards to provide Janine with the impression that she was eager to return to the queue of waiting customers.

Tom shook his head with a smile. "Nah, I like tinkering around with cars, it's fine. But I love to write even more, so hopefully one day…"

"A writer…" Sybil breathed softly, her impression of Tom having now shifted marginally on its axis. It wasn't a skill she had ever possessed with flair but she loved to read at any opportunity and was in awe of anyone who could write put words on paper with eloquence and passion.

Tom smiled and leant towards her with a mischievous smirk. "Mmmm...cars, writing...you see, I'm just generally very skilled with my fingers!" he whispered before walking swiftly away, leaving Sybil to face her customers pink-faced and exuding a general air of distraction which lasted most of the day.

ooOoo

The second week of December heralded the arrival of the café's Christmas tree, a broad Norwegian spruce ordered by the mostly absent proprietor and which seemed to cause Janine only anxiety and irritation.

"It's too wide and it'll drop needles everywhere. That's one more thing for us to do, honestly I don't see why they can't just have a fake one like everyone else! They're very realistic these days."

"Oh I love a real tree!" Sybil exclaimed with heartfelt passion. "It's the smell! You can't produce that in a factory. I'll sweep up the needles, Janine. Honestly, it's a small sacrifice, I don't mind."

"Be my guest!" her Manager sniffed. "In fact, do you want to decorate it too? I've already done mine at home, I can't be bothered to do another one. There's a couple of boxes of baubles and things in the staff room."

The café was usually quiet for the first half an hour of the day and Sybil approached her task with enthusiasm, sorting through the available decorations and deciding on a colour scheme. Dressing the thirty foot tree which dominated the hallway at home each Christmas was one of her favourite annual tasks, but with neither of her sisters expected back until Christmas Eve this year, it would be one she would perform alone with her mother, helped only by her father's long-term assistant, Mr Carson.

She was standing on a chair, draping the string of lights around the tree's upper branches when Tom made his entrance and they exchanged cheery greetings before he made his way to the counter. Stepping back down, she reached for the star to adorn the summit and satisfied that it was vertical and facing the room, returned to the ground and moved backwards to assess the overall view. Her satisfied reverie was interrupted by a collision of flesh, immediately followed by a loud yell of anguish and she spun around to see Tom hopping from one foot to another, pulling at the front of his shirt with his fingers. He swiftly set his cardboard coffee cup down on a nearby table and began to shake his right hand wildly. "Ow, ow, ow…feck….Jaysus…." he muttered and Sybil clasped a hand to her mouth in horror.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she gasped. "I didn't realise you were there!"

"It's fine…." Tom muttered, his body language indicating that the situation was anything but and she spotted the dark stain now spanning his torso.

"Let me get you a cloth." Sybil said, running towards the counter. Her hands were shaking with shock and anxiety and neither were helped by Janine's grave expression of concern.

"I hope he's not going to sue us" she muttered, reaching for the first aid kit and peering inside.

"I know what to do." Sybil said quietly, running a cloth under cool water. She took the kit from her Manager's grasp and returned to Tom, who was now sitting on a chair, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, peering with concern down at his chest.

"Are you OK?" she asked and was relieved to see him flash a smile in her direction.

"I think I'll live." he replied.

"You need to put a cool cloth on the burn."

"I don't think it's really burned, don't worry…"

"Please…" she insisted, holding it out towards him. "Just in case."

With a tip of his head, he took the cloth from her hands and wrapped it around his right hand. "My chest's fine, you'll be glad to hear." he explained. "Not sure about my shirt, however…"

"I'll pay for the dry-cleaning" she replied instinctively and was taken aback by his immediate expression of amusement.

"Dry-cleaning? It's from Primark, I think it was about six quid!"

"Well I'll replace it…"

He gave a light laugh. "Don't worry, Sybil! I'm not bothered about it. It's a work shirt to go under my overalls, that's all."

"Are you going to sue?" she asked, unable to prevent a sharp gasp of anxiety escaping her lips and his expression immediately softened.

"Of course I'm not. I was an eejit to be standing behind you in the first place. I was admiring your tree decorating skills, but it was a stupid thing to be doing – right behind you like that while holding a boiling hot drink."

"I shouldn't have walked backwards without looking…"

"Sybil…" he placed a hand gently on her arm. "I'm fine. I promise not to litigate and take you all down!"

"It's not just that…" she declared, not wanting him to believe that her main priority was corporate liability. "I'm worried that your hand is going to be painful and you won't be able to work."

Tom lifted his arm and carefully unwrapped the cloth before flexing his fingers several times.

"Seems to be OK" he said, his eyes flashing with amusement. "However…"

Sybil's face was once again etched with concern as she watched him lower a finger and point in the direction of his jeans, the zip and surrounding area darkened with split coffee. "I just hope that everything down there is in full working order after its scalding, that's all."

She cleared her throat with embarrassment, knowing that he was teasing her but unable to find a suitable retort with which to bring the conversation to an end. "Yes well…"

"I'll let you know, shall I? Give you a progress report?"

"Well I'd take yourself off to A&E if it's not, if I were you."

"But you're going to be a nurse, aren't you? You seem to know how to treat burns."

"I'm not fully trained" she said firmly and her eyes suddenly twinkled. "So I'd hate to cause you any permanent damage through my well meant inexperience."

"Touché!" he muttered with a smile and each laughed, satisfied that no harm had been done and their friendship had returned to an even keel.

ooOoo

Sybil couldn't help but notice that Tom appeared to seek her out whenever he entered the café. If she was away from the counter, clearing tables, he would wander over for a brief chat in a way he never did with Janine and if she was serving, he would often hang back at the end of the queue so their discussions were longer than she had with any other customer. She found herself looking out for him during the first hour of each day and was conscious of her heart leaping whenever he made his entrance. His unexpected arrival for a second time the following Tuesday caused a spontaneous grin to develop across her face so rapidly, that he could have had no doubt at the delight it caused and a subsequent blush gave further evidence of her developing interest.

"It's been a hell of a day!" he exclaimed wearily, as he leant theatrically against the counter and pretended to mop his brow. "I need another proper coffee to get me through the last couple of hours."

"Oh dear, what's happened?" she asked, beginning the preparations for his Americano without request.

"Oh it's just manic, everyone wants their car serviced before they go away for Christmas and Ted's off ill so we're all working late to try and cover."

"Are you going home for Christmas?" she asked lightly while she opened the cash register and held out her hand for payment.

"We're convening at my brother's in Liverpool this year. He's got kids so it's easier all round, really. My Mam and younger sister are coming over from Dublin and I'll meet them there on Christmas Eve. I've got no extra time off this year – last in so I have to be back working on 27th. And you?"

Sybil nodded. "I've only got the two days off as well. But my sisters will be home on Christmas Eve, so it'll be lovely. We'll just be at home." Once again, she avoided the provision of additional details and not for the first time in her life, wondered how you could casually slip your aristocratic roots into a conversation whilst simultaneously emphasising that they provided neither relevance nor importance.

Instead it was Tom who furthered the conversation, rubbing the back of his neck as he picked up his coffee and she watched him raise a fist to his mouth before lightly clearing his throat.

"I'm going out in Downton on Saturday night, actually" he said lightly, before offering a sudden smile. "The bright lights and wild nightlife beckon!"

"Oh, how come?" Sybil asked, her heart beginning to beat at twice its normal rate.

"One of my housemates has a friend who lives there and is organising a bit of a gathering in the pub. I don't really know him, but there'll be a few there who I do. This friend works up at the big Abbey there, but he lives in the village. You might know him – Jimmy Kent?"

Sybil silently nodded, avoiding a betrayal of the dismay she suddenly felt. Jimmy was employed by her parents and doubled up as an assistant to Mr Carson and footman on formal occasions.

"Anyway…" Tom continued, holding her gaze. "You'd be welcome to come along if you fancied it? It's not just guys, there'll be plenty of girls there too. You know, just a pre-Christmas get-together." His tone remained light, but he was watching her reaction nonetheless and Sybil felt her spirits sink at her unavoidable response. Jimmy was always friendly and respectful to her, but even if she was to now confess her position, she didn't believe that he would welcome the presence of his employer's daughter during a rare Saturday evening off.

"I can't on Saturday, unfortunately" she replied slowly and watched a flash of disappointment cross Tom's face before it was immediately restored by a friendly nod.

"Ah well, never mind."

"I'm already doing something you see."

"Okay, well I just thought I'd ask."

"Thank you."

Tom flashed a smile. "Anyway, back to the grindstone!" he joked and began to turn away.

"Tom…"

As she called out his name, she wasn't certain exactly what she wanted to say, only that she didn't want him to believe that she had entirely spurned his offer, nor its entwined potential.

"I would like to…" she said hesitantly. "I mean, if I wasn't already committed to something that evening. If there was another time…"

They held one another's gaze for a few seconds - mutual comprehension interwoven with an awkward exchange of shy smiles.

"We can sort something out, Sybil."

ooOoo

Tom wasn't forthcoming with many details of his night out in Downton, declaring only that it was _"a nice pub"_ and that the evening had been _"a good laugh"._ Sybil had been tempted to casually ask Jimmy about it when he covered breakfast for Mr Carson the following Monday morning. However, she knew that any enquiries would swiftly make their way back to Tom's household and felt that any explanation about her family should stem from her alone.

The final week prior to Christmas was hectic in the coffee shop and there was little opportunity to exchange more than polite and friendly greetings with any customer. The daily queue of beleaguered shoppers and over excited children meant that Sybil's shifts were filled with activity from start until finish and she and Tom did little more than raise their hands in greeting, or trade fleeting comments with one another.

A hiatus occurred on Christmas Eve – shoppers rushing along the pavement appeared too filled with panic to pause and workers were omitting a morning break to ensure their early finish. Sybil wondered whether Tom would have time to call in before he left for Liverpool and as mid-morning came and passed, felt regretful that she would not have an opportunity to wish him a Happy Christmas. However, ashe emerged from a visit to the toilet at midday, Janine met her eyes and gave a sly smile.

"Customer, Sybil. Somehow, I don't think he's looking for me to serve him!"

"Hi" Sybil said shyly, taking in the vivid colour of his eyes and broad shoulders as if seeing him once again for the first time.

"You okay?" he asked with a slow smile. "I just wanted to say Happy Christmas. Oh and have a coffee too if you don't mind? You're not closing up yet, then?"

"No, two o'clock officially. And you?"

"When we're done" he replied and rolled his eyes to indicate that the instruction provided no firm clarity.

Janine subtly moved to the back room while Sybil prepared his Americano and Tom leant forward, his arms crossed on the counter.

"And will the big man in red be visiting tonight, do you think? Have you been a good girl?"

Sybil grinned and stuck out her lower lip, a gesture she hoped gave a balanced impression of humour and flirtation. "_Very_ good indeed!"

"Pleased to hear it" he replied, giving a low throaty laugh and Sybil felt her stomach perform an unusual movement of acrobatic ability.

He cleared his throat. "So do you want to get together some time after Christmas? Go for a drink or to the cinema or something?"

"Yes, I would – thank you" she replied, her smile betraying both relief and elation.

"Grand, well I'll see you back in here in a few days and we'll sort something out." Coffee and payment were exchanged and they stood facing one another from either side of the counter, curious gazes interlaced with a heady sense of anticipation.

"Right, well I'll say Happy Christmas then…" he said cautiously and Sybil felt a mild sense of dismay when the arrival of an incoming customer terminated any tentative prospect of a festive kiss.

"Have a lovely time with your family" she said in earnest and Tom nodded, glancing ruefully at the man now standing at his side who was perusing the coffee options written on the blackboard.

"You too, Sybil. See you soon."

ooOoo

At the conclusion of her shift, Sybil had half an hour to kill before the departure of her bus to Downton and took a leisurely stroll over to the town's market – a small selection of functional stalls selling clothes, toys and toiletries, interspersed with those offering seasonal wares. Traders were beginning to glance at their watches, trying to gauge the likelihood of further business before potential customers either set out on the road or returned home for their final festive preparations.

In the process of crossing the road, she spotted Tom standing by one of the stalls and struggling to contain her delight, skipped over to tap him on the shoulder.

"Why aren't you on your way to Liverpool?" she asked brightly and was rewarded by his beaming smile of recognition.

"I've only just finished work. I just thought I'd see if I can buy something else for my brother, seeing as he's hosting us all. I've got him a bottle of whiskey but I was wondering about a novelty present – what do you think?" Reaching out, he lifted up a pair of glittery antlers set into a hair band and placed them on his head with a grin.

"Do they look good? Do you think they'll suit him?"

Sybil laughed. "Well I don't know what your brother looks like!"

Tom gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "Ah, about my height. Few years older, moustache, not as good looking obviously, a distinguished air combined with a filthy sense of humour."

Sybil put a hand on her hip and gave a solemn nod. "Well, in that case, I think it would be absolutely perfect!"

"Grand, I'll get them then. What about your family? I know you haven't got any brothers, but don't you think you should get this stylish look for your Dad?"

With a sardonic guffaw, Sybil covered her mouth with her hand. "I don't think it's really his kind of thing to be honest."

Tom tipped his head to one side with raised eyebrows. "No sense of humour?"

She was swift to contradict, before coming to an abrupt halt. "No, he's got a very good sense of humour actually, but he's…." Suddenly she laughed. "Well, why not! It would do him good to get out of his Christmas comfort zone. I'll buy some too!"

Handing over her change, she lifted her chosen item to her head and they stood facing one another, each adorned with sparkling antlers, which swayed gently in the light wind.

Without warning, she emitted a loud snort. "He'll absolutely hate it!" she declared and with the image of the Earl of Grantham festooned in such a manner fixed firmly in her head, was unable to contain her mirth. As the image of hilarity escalated in her mind, tears began to emerge and she found herself unable to speak, powerless to explain why the idea was so unfathomable. Yet her amusement was contagious and Tom soon joined in, the two of them snorting and giggling like children, exchanging silent comprehension at their mutual sense of humour and compatibility.

"Oh my goodness…" she finally spluttered, wiping her eyes and giving a final giggle. "I've got to go and catch my bus."

"I could give you a lift home if you like?" he offered and while it was tempting, Sybil remembered her earlier pledge to Mary and Edith.

"My sisters are meeting me off the bus and we're going to call in on a friend in the village before going home. They'll be disappointed if the plan isn't followed."

He nodded with a smile and with it gave a hint of appreciation at her allegiance to her siblings.

"Well I'll just walk you to the bus stop anyway."

"There's no need, it's only just over there…" her explanation came to an end as he gently guided her by the arm out of the market and stopped abruptly by the final stall.

"Just a second" he said softly and Sybil glanced at the now sparse selection of Christmas wreaths on offer.

"Oh we've already got a wreath for the door" she explained before following the path of Tom's line of vision up to the stall's canopy from which a single sprig of mistletoe was hanging. "Oh…"

With a confident smile, he leant forward and she stretched her neck to meet him, their lips softly colliding. Warm breath combined with cold winter air made Sybil feel momentarily light-headed and she swayed marginally, any further progress curtailed by one of Tom's arms curling slowly around her waist. With a sense of heady anticipation, she ran her hand up his arm and began to cup it behind his neck when she heard the loud hiss of engine brakes nearby and the unwelcome signal of her bus' arrival.

"I've got to go" she explained breathlessly and he smiled at her, his gaze unremitting.

Daringly, she darted forward to snatch a final brief kiss and felt an overpowering sense of happiness as he fleetingly grasped her hand.

"Happy Christmas!" she whispered, taking her first step away from him and raising an arm towards the bus driver to signify her intention to board.

"Happy Christmas…" he replied before offering a mischievous grin. "…_Lady_ Sybil."

Sybil opened her mouth in astonishment, but he simply smiled and with an amused wink, turned on his heel and walked swiftly away.

**THE END**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Back by popular demand... Seriously, this was only supposed to be a fun one shot for Christmas, but the response was so overwhelmingly positive, that I couldn't resist extending it as people requested.**_

_**So now I begin the challenge of trying to get inside an 18 year old Sybil's head one week (believe me – that's quite a stretch nowadays!) and a 33 year old one another. Let's hope that I remember which is which! 'Perk of the Job' will be a series of short scenes in which we view Tom and Sybil's romantic journey, rather than a longer, more cohesive story – I've got 7 more chapters planned after this one. I see challenges ahead (as well as some fun) – Brighton is a long, long way from Yorkshire (knows that all the North Americans and Australians are shaking their heads, muttering 'those Brits have NO idea about long journeys….')**_

* * *

"So how did you find out?" Sybil placed a hand on her hip, tipping her head to one side as he approached the counter. The question which had dominated her thoughts for three days had finally found its recipient, however he simply frowned in response.

"Find what out?" A cheery wave towards her Manager made it clear that he had no intention of making this easy for her. "Alright there Janine, nice Christmas?"

Janine was wiping a nearby table and only paused briefly to reply. "Lovely thanks, Tom. And you?"

"Grand, ta. What about you, Sybil? Did Father Christmas bring everything you wanted?"

"Yes, yes…" She waved her hand around in the air as if trying to divert an annoying insect hovering nearby and frowned as he stood watching her, an increasingly amused grin spreading across his face. "Who told you?" she pressed.

"Told me….?" Tom's eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head while glancing down at the floor, before it abruptly snapped upwards in acknowledgement of Sybil's light foot stamp of impatience.

"Ooooh…" he teased and she couldn't help but laugh. His twinkling eyes and playful banter were too hard to resist and she couldn't bring herself to prolong the charade of irritation.

"Jimmy Kent…" he replied with the briefest of shrugs.

"Ah…"

"…entirely inadvertently, I must stress. He had no idea that I knew you." Tom met her gaze with a smile wholly devoid of malice or mischief before fractionally lowering his voice. "Mind you, I had no idea that I knew you either!"

A giggle escaped from Sybil's lips – flirtation bound up with nervous excitement – which she made a brief and futile attempt to curtail while she waited for further explanation.

"I was just making conversation with him really…" Tom began "…you know, that night in the pub? Asking him a bit about his job and what it was like working for an Earl and Countess." He smiled again. "He was very complimentary about your parents actually, but he did say that they lived in another world and then he just added that the youngest daughter was a bit more real, trying to live a more normal life, wanted to go to university and was working in a café for a year to help pay for it…and I thought _'sounds a familiar story'_…but I didn't for one moment realise that he was talking about you until he suddenly mentioned the name of this place. And suddenly it all made sense! The way you avoided talking about your family on the whole, didn't seem to want me to know exactly where you lived. To be honest, I thought you were trying to keep me at arms' length to begin with, that perhaps you were worried I might turn up uninvited on your doorstep. So I was standing there feeling a bit stunned when he said '_Anyway you should go and take a look, Lady Sybil's quite easy on the eye'._

In a fleeting moment of synchronicity, Tom and Sybil clutched a hand to their respective mouths and exchanged awkward glances.

"Shit, I shouldn't have said that last bit…" Tom muttered, his hand sinking to rub his chin in an awkward fashion.

Sybil giggled once again, uncertain whether to be amused or horrified. "Don't worry…"

"Seriously, if he knew that I'd told you that…"

"He won't. Not from me, anyway." she replied quickly. "Anyway, we all know that Jimmy considers himself to be a ladies' man. To be honest, I'd be quite insulted if he _didn't_ think I was easy on the eye!"

Tom appeared visibly relieved. "OK then. As I said before, I don't really know him all that well, but he seems a nice enough guy."

"He is. My family all like him and so do the other staff."

A low whistle escaped Tom's lips. "The other staff…" he repeated, raising his eyebrows and Sybil felt instinctively defensive.

"It's a very big house, it needs staff to look after it! And people expect certain standards when my parents entertain - they'd be disappointed if my mother appeared with a plate in each hand, tiara on her head, looking red faced and harassed after an afternoon in the kitchen."

Tom grinned. "My Mam can look red faced and harassed after heating soup…"

"Well your mother isn't…" Sybil curtailed her train of thought and sighed, glancing down at the counter separating them. "Jimmy's right, I do live in a different world, but I'm trying very hard to straddle the two. I don't want to live that kind of lifestyle. I know it's easy to say when you've been brought up with it, but it's not for me and the reason that I didn't tell you is because I didn't want you, or indeed anyone, to treat me differently."

"I'm only teasing you, you know. I couldn't care less who your parents are."

She raised her eyes to meet his and saw no trace of animosity, nor mockery in his expression. "Thank you."

His lips twitched as he leant forward and lowered his voice once again. "No, I fancied you before I knew and I still fancy you now."

Her stomach, which had up until this point had been performing a slow and gentle waltz, now moved up-tempo and switched to a samba, complete with elaborate lifts which threatened to betray the stability in her legs. She grasped the counter and cleared her throat in an effort at disguise.

"Well that's good to know. I…um…well you know…same really…" It was such a lame and undeserving reply that she laughed out loud before he could even respond. "Sorry! What I mean is…er…"

"You fancy me too?" he suggested with a gentle smile and Sybil felt her face flushing with colour as she nodded.

"Yes"

He held her eyes with a steadfast gaze before quietly murmuring. "So what are we going to do about that then?"

"Um…you said something about a drink…" Sybil's voice had inadvertently risen by an octave and she coughed loudly in order to try and diffuse it. "Or the cinema?" she boomed in an effort to sound more normal.

A brief silence ensued while they observed one another with smiles of anticipation – on the precipice of something new, with all the promise it entailed.

"What about Saturday evening?" Tom finally asked and a thought simultaneously ran through his head. _'My life may never be the same again.'_

And he was right.

ooOoo

One month and six dates later, Sybil stretched her legs across the top of Tom's surprisingly comfortable double bed in his shared house, grinning as he came back into the room.

"Now where were we?" he said softly, kneeling beside her and cupping a hand behind her head.

"So you don't need to rescue me from a burning building then?" she asked. "Nothing's on fire downstairs?"

"Burnt toast" he replied with a fleeting smile. "I knew Brendan couldn't cook really, but it did smell like something was on fire, didn't it?"

"Yes" she murmured, curling her arms around his neck and pulling him close. Gently at first, their lips came together and Sybil felt herself fleetingly shiver at his touch, one of his hands remaining at the back of her head, the other slowly making its way down her torso before teasingly stroking her thigh.

Once again, Sybil had told her parents that she was going to the cinema with a friend from work. What she had omitted to mention was Tom's name, gender and the fact that she was finishing work early at 4pm, going to the 4.50pm showing and would then be spending the remainder of the evening in Tom's bedroom. It was her second visit to his room, their first three dates having followed such propriety that even her grandmother could not have found fault. But hand-holding and gentle kisses had been entwined with mutual yearning and increased confidence, soon leading to a more passionate encounter within a shadowy corner of Waitrose car park. Sybil wondered wryly whether the location would at least reprieve her partly from her parents' disapproval, should they ever find out – _'At least it wasn't Asda.'_ When their next outing was accompanied by a heavy rainstorm and the prospect of any amorous activity outdoors was unappealing, Sybil simply asked – _'Can we go to your house?'_. Only one of Tom's housemates had been in and while he offered a curious smile and friendly greeting, displayed no visible sign of recognition and simply wandered away into the kitchen.

Things were certainly moving along and Sybil could feel Tom's blatant desire pressing against her groin while his fingers played with the hem of her t-shirt and gradually slipped underneath, lightly brushing her bare skin. With a light accompanying gasp, she pulled him closer and began to run her hands through his hair. Tom pressed into her, rolling her onto her back and in doing so, attempted to extract his left hand from the rear of her head.

"Aghh..." she gasped, his cygnet ring catching in her curls and instinctively, she pressed at his chest.

"Sorry…" he muttered, making another unsuccessful attempt to extract himself and causing her to wince further. It was soon clear, however, that Tom hadn't fully understood the circumstances behind Sybil's resistance. "I didn't mean to try and push you into anything."

"You weren't, your ring got caught in my hair."

"I was getting a bit carried away, I'm sorry. You're too beautiful, that's the problem."

"Thank you…" she grinned at him "…but it wasn't that. My hair was being pulled from my scalp."

"I don't want you to think that I'm trying to force you into something that you don't want to do."

"I don't. I'm quite capable of saying what I do and don't want…"

"I mean, I would want it to be special for you, I'm not trying to hurry you or anything."

"Thank you" she replied automatically, before considering his previous sentence once again and narrowing her eyes in contemplation.

"Well of course I would want it to be special as well, but…Tom…I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're thinking?"

"Oh!" His response was so wholly wrapped up with a combination of surprise and disappointment that she felt instinctively indignant and sat up.

"What was that _'oh'_ supposed to mean?" she challenged. "Was that based on my age, my gender or the fact that I'm an Earl's daughter?"

"None! I didn't make any presumptions." Verbally he offered a strong defence, but the accompanying blush invalidated it instantly and Sybil simply glared at him until he capitulated.

"A bit of all three, I suppose…" he muttered shamefully. "I'm sorry, it was completely unjustified."

"Sexist, ageist and with some inverted snobbery thrown into the mix!" she replied, taking only limited pleasure from his obvious discomfort.

"I guess so…I apologise, I had no right…"

Taking pity on him, she turned her line of questioning around.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

He looked only momentarily surprised. "Er…seventeen."

"Well there you go then, we're even."

"I guess I presumed you wouldn't have had as many opportunities. You don't know many people around here, you went to boarding school."

"A mixed boarding school, not all girls."

"Yes, but I'd have thought they have pretty strict rules about things like that."

Sybil gave a light laugh and couldn't help flicking her hair over a shoulder with an element of pride. "But Tom...rules are made to be broken!"

He looked suitably impressed. "So what, were you all shagging in the stationery cupboard?"

"We had single rooms in the sixth form, it wasn't that hard to smuggle someone in."

"I've obviously watched too many TV programmes about boarding school hell, I was imagining you all in dormitories."

"You do share in the early years, but if your parents are paying over £30,000 a year, then it's not unreasonable to expect a single room once you get to sixteen."

Tom exhaled loudly. "Thirty thousand…fuck me…"

Sybil's lips twitched with amusement as she attempted a cool reply in the style she could imagine her sister, Mary adopting under the circumstances. "Yes well I probably will eventually…"

Tom's eyes widened and she began to giggle, crossing her legs to sit more comfortably and giving an involuntary snort at his expression of shock.

"I'm sorry, that's not like me at all. I just couldn't resist it!"

"Well, I'm not objecting!" He was visibly relaxing, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement and she reached out to hold his hand in conciliation.

"Just not yet, that's all."

She felt his thumb caress her palm. "I was telling the truth earlier, I'm not trying to rush you into anything."

"There was only one, by the way."

He tipped his head quizzically.

"At school. Ever in fact. I don't want you to think the other extreme either."

"I'm not thinking anything."

"I didn't go into that lightly and I feel the same now. I think I want it to happen, but I just want to be sure."

"Well so do I, if I'm honest. I'd like to feel that you're not ashamed of me first."

Sybil felt once again indignant. "What do you mean? Of course I'm not!"

"Well you haven't told your parents that you're seeing me, have you?"

She squirmed. "No, but…"

"Because they wouldn't approve." He gave a light shrug of his shoulders, the declaration unsurprising in his mind.

"They wouldn't mind, they're not like that!" she replied with defiance.

"I bet they didn't plan on paying over thirty grand a year for you to end up with a mechanic."

"You've got the wrong idea about them entirely." She wasn't wholly confident in her defence, but she didn't want him to think the worst of her family and was convinced that he was capable of swiftly winning them over.

"Then why haven't you told them?" He didn't seem in any way resentful, showing only signs of being amused by her embarrassment, now that the tables had been turned.

A heavy sigh preceded her explanation."Because they'll invite you to dinner."

He laughed – very sharply and with it came the first hint of offence. "I do have table manners, you know. I know how to deal with more than one knife and fork on a table. I can eat soup without slurping!"

"It's not that, of course I don't think like that!"

"Then why are you so opposed to me coming over for dinner? It's not an uncommon situation when people start going out together. If we lived in Dublin, my Mam would certainly invite you round."

"Because they'll make such a fuss!" Her words were almost spat out as she recalled the pomp and occasion experienced by Mary and Edith's boyfriends over the years.

"Because they care, perhaps?"

"Yes, but also because they have never learned to do anything with subtlety. Honestly, they'll treat it as if you're on the verge of asking for my hand. Granny will be invited…"

"I've had grandmothers eating out of my palm in the past…"

Sybil gave a derisory snort. "You haven't met mine!"

"Try me…" he teased and she met his gaze, spotting a seed of self-doubt behind his bravado and knowing that she couldn't continue to pretend that her family was no different from others. Doing so was a betrayal of her affection towards them, her upbringing and the woman she was learning to be - while the accusation of shame to which Tom had earlier alluded, was in truth simply reversed.

"OK" she said and gave a grin which suggested more humour and collusion than she really felt. "But don't say that I didn't warn you!"

* * *

_**A/N: Coming next – Tom's dinner at Downton and Sybil's right, they're all coming!**_


	3. Chapter 3

Sybil was hovering behind Carson while he opened the front door and consequently Tom met her welcoming grin with a happy beam of his own, leading even the usually formal butler to offer a tight-lipped smile.

"May I take your coat, Mr Branson?" he asked and Tom slipped it off with an amiable nod, trying to mask the unexpected nerves which had swept suddenly over him as he reached the door. There had been no trepidation when he first taunted Sybil for an invitation; indeed he saw it as a challenge – to satisfy his own curiosity and perhaps unsettle the usual order within the Abbey. He had seen photographs of it of course – it was ubiquitous on postcards and local guide books around Ripon, but even a die-hard socialist from Dublin couldn't help feeling in awe of its imposing stature once he stood alone before it on the vast expanse of drive.

And now he began to truly appreciate the worst scenario the evening might hold – that he might be held in distain, his pride and confidence knocked and worse still, that Sybil might be persuaded to see her involvement with him as a youthful misadventure. Their relationship, still in its exploratory stage, left him feeling unexpectedly happy. He didn't believe that he had been previously discontent, but life would seem indisputably gloomy, were their union now to end. He took nothing for granted in the long term but would prefer it to finish through personal incompatibility rather than by any external manipulation.

'_It's only a house. They're only a family. Sybil's family. She's lovely, there's no reason they shouldn't be too._' he reminded himself silently, but out of earshot from Carson, quietly asked the question which had been bothering him since he first dressed earlier that evening.

"Is this suit alright?"

Sybil smiled and he couldn't help but match her expression although his stomach was still lurching violently at the prospect of the evening ahead.

"Yes of course!" She leant forward to whisper in his ear. "You look gorgeous!" and his insides pitched once again, although no longer as a consequence of anxiety.

"You can talk!" he replied, glancing admiringly at her dress which was clinging appealingly to her curves and displaying more cleavage than he'd previously seen in a public setting. _'There'll be none of that tonight'_ he thought ruefully, before swiftly banishing a mental image of Sybil's breasts with which he had made a more personal acquaintance during their last evening together. She usually wore her long curls loose around her shoulders, although it was often tied up while working in the café, but tonight she had it twisted up at the back of her head in an elaborate style which made her look far older than her years.

She turned towards him, brushing an imaginary piece of fluff from a lapel and gave him another smile of reassurance. He had bought the suit last summer to cover the respective weddings of a cousin and friend. At the time, three hundred Euros had seemed a vast amount to spend on one outfit, but his mother assured him that it would last to cover the multitude of weddings which he would inevitably attend during his twenties.

"You won't need to buy another until your own" she had declared, but this evening he feared that it would look distinctly inferior in comparison to others on display.

"It's not black tie, I'd have told you if it was" Sybil continued and his eyes widened in astonishment. _'You mean, it might have been?'_ he thought and his stomach clenched again with disquiet.

After only a brief glance in admiration at the Abbey's cavernous hallway, he took her offered hand and stepped beside her into the drawing room. Any unease he carried was soon eliminated by the satisfaction taken from Jimmy's instant expression of shock. The footman was standing close to the doorway, holding a silver tray of fluted glasses. While his dress and stature were immaculate, the image was instantly annulled by an open mouth and wide eyed astonishment.

"What…you?" he stuttered and Tom found himself relaxing at the absurdity of the situation. He was an instinctive tease and having found an outlet for his humour, couldn't help making the most of it.

"Evening Jimmy, I'll take one of those, thanks very much. You well?"

The footman remained perplexed. "I…I…how come?"

Tom leant towards him and ensuring that only Sybil could see, gave a conspiratorial wink. "I took your advice Jimmy…" he whispered "…I took a look."

Jimmy's mouth, which had momentarily fastened shut, dropped once again open, but any opportunity for further discussion was swiftly swept away by the entrance of Carson behind them, who spotted his protégé's expression and cleared his throat loudly.

"James" he said in a voice steeled with intent and condemnation.

"But I know him!" Jimmy hissed and Carson narrowed his eyes in disapproval at such out of line expression.

"And you will treat him with the same level of respect and courtesy as any other guest who visits this house."

Jimmy's compliant "Yes Mr Carson" remained unheard by both Tom and Sybil, who each turned into the room at the sound of the Earl's approaching greeting.

"Hello Tom. I'm Lord Grantham, good to meet you." Tom took the Earl's proffered hand and ensured that he shook it firmly.

"And you. Thank you very much for the invitation." His usual stock expression under similar circumstances - _'It's a lovely home you've got here'_ seemed superfluous on this occasion and he made the decision to remain silent, glancing around at the sea of faces which were looking earnestly in his direction.

The Earl's smile failed to mask an underlying expression of unease and Tom understood that his fears of not meeting the expectations of Sybil's parents were likely to be well founded. However her mother appeared by her husband's side with a welcome which appeared genuine or may simply have been more accomplished in the art of collusion.

"We're always so happy to meet Sybil's friends" she said warmly, touching her daughter's arm lightly with a finger.

Sybil squeezed Tom's hand in silent support. "I'll introduce you to everyone else." she said softly.

In his efforts not to grip Sybil's palm too tightly, Tom found that he was now clutching the stem of his flute with such force that it was in danger of snapping in two. Slowly he took a sip, aware even through his limited knowledge of champagne that it was of a better quality than anything which had ever previously crossed his lips.

"Granny, this is Tom" Sybil said with such eagerness that Tom's heart softened even further towards her. The elderly lady before him was dressed finely, in a style which had no doubt been fashionable during her youth and tipped her head in his direction while extending her arm.

"Hello Tom, I'm looking forward to a very interesting evening."

"Hello…" He shook her hand in the silence which followed, uncertain how to address her.

"Lady Grantham" she replied and he repeated her instruction, attempting a smile more confident than he now felt.

Sybil led him around the room and polite exchanges were made with Sybil's sisters - Mary assessing him with a sweeping glance to accompany her polite smile of greeting, Edith friendly but seeming uncomfortable and on edge. Their boyfriends gave the impression of bridging the gap a little – Matthew boyish in appearance, clasping Tom's hand with a nod that indicated he sympathised with Tom's unease. _'He's a distant cousin'_ Tom remembered. _'They still inbreed – avoiding a dilution of the dynasty'_, Michael enthusiastic and somehow out of place, a journalist from London whose inclusion into the family dynamics was also recent.

The final guest was Matthew's mother, Isobel. "I'm here to make up the numbers" she declared with a defiant grin and Tom understood instantly that she was on his side.

"Isobel likes to stir up the conversation" the Dowager Countess declared, rising slowly to her feet in preparation for their move to the dining room. "She likes nothing more than a like-minded collaborator for lively discussion, do you think you might oblige Tom?"

He was briefly tongue-tied. _'What other discussion is there?'_ he thought, recollections of family mealtimes around the Branson table flashing through his mind – his late father's loud chuckle, his sister's defiant declarations for the unjust, his and Kieran's animated teenage arguments.

"I'm not shy to give an opinion when it's wanted" he finally added, hoping that he didn't sound bolshie, but having no desire to conceal his instinctive personality under a swathe of banality and politeness.

Jimmy avoided eye contact as they left the room, staring determinedly at the wall ahead, but Tom hesitated before placing his glass on the tray and lightly cleared his throat.

"Ah, you're doing a grand job there!" he said quietly and looked forward to a future exchange in which Jimmy could extract some revenge.

They took their places for dinner and Tom gazed at the multitude of portraits which adorned the surrounding walls – _'Is that a Rembrandt?'_ he wondered and knew that if he was correct, then it certainly wouldn't be a reproduction. To his relief, Matthew sat beside him, leaning in with a murmur and empathy in his expression.

"If you can get through this, you can get through anything!"

"Do they ever eat…normally?" Tom muttered as he adjusted the napkin on his lap and turned to face him.

Matthew flashed a grin. "Beans on toast?" he suggested and Tom found himself relaxing with a less formal companion.

"Well, lamb chops maybe, or sausage and mash?"

"Actually they do." Matthew confided. "This is all in your honour, my friend! How to intimidate the uninitiated! In all honesty, I don't think they are deliberately trying to intimidate you, but they like to make it clear how things are done around here and see if you can ride with it."

"So it isn't what you're used to then?" Besides knowing that the Matthew was in some way related to the Crawleys, Tom had no idea about his background and was relieved to see his companion shake his head.

"Absolutely not. My father was a doctor, my mother a nurse. I'm a solicitor. Solidly middle class. No servants and any formal meals always cooked by Mum."

"Well I'm solidly working class" Tom emphasised, leaning to one side as a bowl of soup was carefully placed in front of him by Carson.

"But neither of us is part of the aristocracy, Tom and that puts us decidedly on the same side! Think of it as an occasional opportunity to dress up and enjoy a wonderful meal. Sybil's remarkably unaffected by it all and even Mary can let her hair down when she's distanced from all this."

Tom felt Sybil's hand gently squeeze his knee under the table and turned to flash her a grateful smile before studying the array of cutlery before him and carefully selecting the correct spoon.

"I had no idea who Sybil was when I first asked her out" he confessed to his new ally.

"And would it have made any difference? I mean, either way?"

Tom shook his head and an image of their first encounter in the coffee shop flashed through his mind. "Not at all. I was smitten from the first smile, I think."

The meal progressed with an array of genial and inconsequential topics about which Tom made an effort not to offer any controversial opinions. He caught Jimmy's eye on a couple of occasions and couldn't help but smirk at the footman's evident discomfort with the proceedings.

Once the main course was under way, Sybil's father cleared his throat before glancing in his direction and Tom sensed that he was about to begin with a more pertinent line of questioning.

"So, Tom. Sybil tells us that you're a mechanic?" The question was politely expressed and accompanied by a friendly nod, but Tom could spot the tension in Lord Grantham's cheek which masked displeasure at the revelation.

"That's right, yes."

"And is that what you always wanted to do, may I ask?"

Tom took a deep breath, understanding that this was his opportunity to present a more favourable impression, but at the same time quietly indignant that it should be necessary.

"No…no, it wasn't." he replied slowly, carefully placing his knife and fork down on the plate. "I mean, I've always enjoyed tinkering around with cars. My father used to race banger cars and I helped him with them." He coughed lightly, coming to the swift conclusion that this was unlikely to be a hobby with which anyone else in the room was acquainted. "But I always wanted to be a journalist."

"Good man!" Michael interrupted and Tom spotted Edith's affectionate smile before it was curtailed by a bewildering silent exchange from Mary.

"Then why didn't you?" Sybil's father continued, his gaze unrelenting.

"Because my father died six months before I finished school and we couldn't afford for me to go to university."

Isobel's voice cut into the awkward silence. "Oh I'm so sorry!" and Tom gave her a grateful smile.

"That must have been extremely devastating for you all…" Lord Grantham continued "…but couldn't you have deferred for a year like Sybil has? Is there not a grant system over in Ireland, or student loans to cover the expense?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, but that wasn't the issue. The problem was that my father died unexpectedly and hadn't left any provision for his family." Tom could feel his heart hammering inside his chest, uncomfortable discussing his family's finances with complete strangers, but wanting to make clear what he had already explained to Sybil. "There were debts, an unfinished mortgage, no life insurance. My sister was still at school and my mother only worked part-time. We needed another wage. My brother helped out until I finished my exams but then I had to get a job."

Silence pervaded the table. "I see" said Lord Grantham quietly and everybody picked up their cutlery, avoiding further conversation as they contemplated the stark reality of life outside of their exclusive circle.

"And has your mother been able to stay in your family home?" Isobel asked gently.

"Yes, I'm pleased to say. She managed to increase her hours at work and the mortgage was recently paid off in full. My sister goes to university in Dublin but still lives at home with her."

To Tom's surprise, it was Sybil's grandmother who spoke next. "Then you were the one who missed your opportunity in life, are you not resentful in any way?"

He shook his head. "I don't see any point in resenting something that simply wasn't a possibility. I was heartbroken about my father and I wanted to help my mother. Life is full of stumbling blocks and hurdles, I believe that you just have to find your way around them. I've got a good, solid trade which will always hold me in good stead and I'm doing an Open University course, part-time."

"And will you then become a journalist?" Mary asked with a confidence borne out of society in which opportunities were plentiful.

"I'd still like to. Perhaps on a car magazine. I mean, ideally I'd like to write about history and politics - those are my big interests, but I'm realistic enough to realise that I might have a better chance in a field where I've got some practical experience."

"Michael's an Editor, perhaps he could help?" Edith suggested eagerly, turning towards her boyfriend who looked immediately uncomfortable.

"Of a lifestyle magazine, Edith. I don't quite think that's what Tom's thinking of"

"But you could take a look at something he writes, couldn't you? You _have_ had articles about cars in the past."

Tom smiled politely across the table, rewarded by her enthusiastic nod as her glance alternated between him and her younger sister, who had now reached out to take Tom's hand.

"That would be good, wouldn't it Tom?" Sybil said breathlessly.

Tom cleared his throat, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the way in which the conversation was heading. "That's very kind. Look, I haven't come here to try and further my career. I just wanted to explain what my plans are…"

"But you should take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself!" the Dowager declared, leaning forward to emphasise her point and fixing her eyes firmly in the direction of Tom. "Isn't that the entitlement of youth? To size a chance in order to move up in the world?"

Lord Grantham sighed. "That's hardly something about which you would have any experience, Mother."

"Oh I don't know, I watched Cora do it effortlessly when she first met you" she replied sharply and Tom felt an undercurrent of tension between the Dowager and her daughter-in-law, before it was deftly deflected by the current Countess in a banal question to Mary.

Jimmy was moving around the table to refill the wine glasses and Tom placed a hand over his in anticipation.

Lord Grantham frowned. "Don't you like the wine, Tom?"

A light laugh escaped his lips before he had a chance to curtail it. "It's lovely! Probably the nicest red wine I've ever tasted if I'm honest. But I'm driving home and I've already had a glass of champagne, so I don't dare have any more, thank you."

"Couldn't you get a taxi home?" asked Mary in a cool tone, contrasting sharply with her polite smile.

"Um, I could but…"

She took advantage of his hesitation to interrupt. "We have an account with Grantham Cars if you're in any way concerned. You'd be very welcome to use it." Another smile was offered, laced with her presumption of his poverty and he felt internal stirrings of irritation.

"I can afford a taxi to Ripon, thank you." he replied politely. "The issue is that I've already driven my car here and I'm working tomorrow so wouldn't have an opportunity to come back and get it."

"You could get Sybil to drive it into to work in the morning." Edith suggested. "If you trust her, that is!"

Sybil pulled a face. "Pot, kettle, black" she replied in a sarcastic tone and turned to face Tom. "I'm happy to do that, if you'd like? I could park it near your house and then walk to work."

Her mother picked up on the suggestion of familiarity. "Have you already been to Tom's house, then darling?"

"I've called in" Sybil replied swiftly and returned her gaze to Tom. "Are you happy to let me drive your beloved car?" she asked with a teasing grin, and the restoration of their usual relaxed banter made Tom feel once again at ease.

"I've never seen you drive, do I need to be worried?" he joked.

"I've got a clean licence"

"Only because you haven't been driving long enough!" Edith said sharply and Sybil raised her eyebrows, leaning towards him and speaking in an exaggerated whisper.

"Edith's got six points on hers!"

The meal progressed without further incident and they returned to the drawing room for coffee, leaving Jimmy to clear the table behind them. At the door, Tom paused to glance back at his acquaintance, who met his gaze, shook his head and mouthed _'jammy bastard'_ when he was certain that nobody else could witness the exchange.

Sybil fell back to wait for him, staking her claim with an outstretched hand. "A generation ago, you'd have been staying in there with the men to drink brandy and smoke cigars" she said with a sardonic roll of her eyes. "My mother soon put pay to that when she arrived, thank goodness!"

He made an effort to mingle in the drawing room, finding himself instinctively drawn to either Matthew or Michael, but making courteous exchange with Sybil's sisters about London and Dublin – presenting a façade in which they had common ground, although the reality was that they were familiar with very different areas of each city. Sybil seemed different here - at home and accustomed to the finery and rituals of aristocratic life. He remembered her earlier explanation, her desire to _'straddle two worlds'_ and couldn't help but admire the way she switched effortlessly from one to another. Only her well rounded pronunciation gave any hint of a background which might differ from her colleagues in the café. The manner in which she spoke and her exchange with customers was entirely ordinary and at ease, while her work ethic – adding a voluntary shift at the nearby residential home to her full week in the coffee shop – gave strength to her pledge to live a different kind of life.

Lord Grantham stepped towards him, his attempt at a friendly smile once again failing to mask an underlying discomfort.

"So what do you think about Sybil's plans to become a nurse, then Tom?"

He cleared his throat. "I think it's a very admirable profession and one she'll be very good at."

Sybil's father narrowed his eyes. "What in particular leads you to believe that?"

Tom chose his words carefully, loathe to create any further undercurrent of agitation towards Sybil's ambitions. "Well she's got a naturally compassionate nature and wants to help people. She was great when she spilt coffee over me in the café, knew exactly what to do."

"She spilt coffee on you?" Lord Grantham looked immediately alarmed and Tom attempted to diffuse the situation with rolling eyes and a goofy grin.

"My own fault entirely. I stood directly behind her with a hot drink and she stepped backwards into me. No lasting damage done, I'm pleased to say."

"Is that how the two of you met?"

"No, we already knew each other a little before. Maybe it helped bring us together, I don't know." A gentle smile of recollection flashed across his face. "I think it was going to happen regardless, to be honest. We just got on from the start."

Lord Grantham studied him intently for a moment. "I see. And Brighton, what do you think about that particular choice?"

"Well I don't know the city personally, I've never been there. But Sybil says it offers the best course for her and I'm sure she's done her research."

"It has a bit of a…" there was an awkward pause "…hippy reputation. Drugs, that sort of thing."

Tom stifled a smirk, amused at his misguided alarm, but appreciating the paternal concern which lay behind it. "Well I think Sybil knows her own mind. I'm sure that, having worked so hard to get there, she won't be looking to throw it all away."

"No, quite. Of course she put Manchester as her second choice, we were rather hoping that was what would come through. Much nearer to home and Isobel could have kept an eye on her."

"Well she'll not be too far from her sisters in Brighton."

"Yes…" Lord Grantham's gaze fell to the floor. "It's a long way from Yorkshire though."

"Indeed"

The gaze crept up to meet Tom's head on. "It's a long way from you."

He swallowed before answering with care. "That it is."

There was an uneasy silence before he continued. "Look, September's a long time from now. I'm very keen on your daughter, Lord Grantham. If I can be honest with you, I can't remember ever feeling quite as infatuated as I am now. But I'm also aware that long distance relationships don't have a very high success rate when people start university. She'll meet new people, be engrossed in her course, have very different experiences. It may be that there's no room for me in her life once she's established there. I'd be very sad indeed, but I'm prepared for it."

"And have you had this conversation with Sybil?"

Tom shook his head. "As I said, it's seven months away and we've been in a relationship for barely seven weeks. I'm pretty sure that we're each in the same place right now, but I don't see any point in talking about it at this point, we've a way to go. She'll deny it anyway, just through youthful optimism."

Lord Grantham flashed a wry smile. "Then it sounds as if I should be more concerned for your heart than hers?"

Tom shrugged. "I would be very upset, I'll not deny that. But when all's said and done, it wouldn't be the absolutely worst thing that's ever happened in my life."

"No…" An unexpected expression of empathy sprung from the Earl. "The loss of one's parent, especially before their time, is unspeakable. I know that from personal experience."

Their discussion was interrupted by Carson's arrival. "M'lord. Mr Branson's taxi has arrived."

From her position on a sofa next to her grandmother, Sybil sprung immediately to her feet. "I'll see him out, Carson. You don't need to come."

"As you wish milady."

"Could you ask Jimmy, I mean James to fetch his coat?" asked Lord Grantham, turning to shake Tom's hand.

"It's been nice to meet you, Tom. And I'm sure we'll see you again, at least over the coming months."

"I hope so" he replied earnestly, giving a sweeping smile and accompanying nod to the room's other occupants. "Thank you for a delicious meal, it was lovely to meet you all."

At the front door, he accepted his coat with a grin from a graceless Jimmy, who bound by protocol and self-preservation, didn't dare speak out of turn in front of Sybil.

"Thank you _James_" he emphasised. "Well done!"

Emitting a light snigger as the footman disappeared out of sight, he turned to Sybil, his curiosity raised. "What's all this Jimmy/James nonsense then?"

Sybil smiled with an accompanying eye roll. "Carson thinks that it sounds more dignified to say James – more fitting for his position, whatever that's supposed to mean! But after he'd been here a few days, my Mum was chatting to him and he confessed to preferring to be called Jimmy. She always wants everyone to feel relaxed, so she told us all to use that, but Carson persists and Daddy feels a little intimidated by Carson, so he seems to swap between the two. Anyway, I don't understand why Jimmy was so surprised by you being here, I'm sure your name's been mentioned several times."

"I doubt he knew my surname before, I'm just Brendan's mate, Tom. I only know his because Brendan's got two different friends called Jimmy. But anyway your Dad's the Earl, why in God's name does he feel intimidated by his butler?" Tom asked, chuckling at such irrationality.

"Because Carson's been here since Daddy was a teenager. First as footman, then under butler which we don't have any more, then butler. I think Daddy feels that Carson judges him against my grandfather and I suppose it's down to his own insecurity that he doesn't believe he matches up."

Torn by contrasting thoughts of sympathy and ridicule, Tom chose to refrain from cracking a sharp retort to make Sybil laugh. "Ah, I guess we all want to live up to our fathers."

Sybil touched his arm. "I'm sorry that you had to talk about…" She glanced awkwardly over his shoulder into middle space. "…you know, money and all that after your Dad died."

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have to explain."

"I should." The contradiction caused her head to jerk marginally with surprise.

"They wanted to know if I had ambition. It wasn't just about whether I'm good enough for you, it was to see if I'm a good match for you and your determination. They want you to be happy with someone who has the same kind of goals and drive."

Silent for a moment in contemplation, Sybil's face broke into a wide smile. "So you liked them, then? It wasn't an entirely horrible ordeal?"

"It wasn't an ordeal at all in the end. I enjoyed myself and I tell you, under different circumstances, I'd happily have a pint with Matthew."

"You could have a pint with him anyway, I think he'd much prefer to be holed away in a pub than here sometimes."

"Well then perhaps we will some time."

"I'm so relieved that you had a good evening. I was so worried about it."

"I know you were. But now they know I'm on the scene, so there'll be no secrets. It's better that way."

She looked at him coyly, twisting the ball of her foot on the starkly tiled floor. "Well I'm not telling them _everything_."

"No?" he asked softly, glancing out of the door and raising a hand in acknowledgement of the waiting taxi driver.

"Well I wouldn't tell them exactly what we were doing last time I came over to yours!"

He grinned and the mental image of Sybil's breasts resurfaced. "Perhaps that's for the best."

She took his hand and leant slowly forward, her breath warm on his ear while goose bumps rose on the back of his neck with evolving anticipation. "And I'm not telling them what we'll probably be doing next time, either."

Departing on the cusp of suggestion and promise, Tom had a feeling that he would scarcely sleep a wink.

* * *

_**A/N –Next chapter (probably in a fortnight). The tables are turned over the summer when Sybil visits Ireland.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**JUNE**

As the plane descended through relentless grey cloud, Sybil couldn't help but think that it didn't look substantially different from home_._ By the time a defined view finally materialised, they were so low to the ground that only the tarmac and terminal buildings were visible – beyond them a multi-coloured carpet of cars, all meticulously parked in adjacent rows as if participants in an elaborate board game.

"Home, sweet home!" Tom declared with a grin, lifting the back of her hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. "Welcome to Dublin!"

There was no welcome party to greet them in the arrivals hall. Tom's mother was at work and his sister committed to a summer job lifeguarding at the local swimming pool. So they caught the airport bus into the city centre, then a local line out to the Branson family home. Sybil caught a glance of an outer wall of Dublin Castle as the bus swept out of the centre towards its suburban edge and Tom pointed his finger in the general direction of other famous landmarks, out of sight behind busy, bustling streets. "We'll come back in a day or two and I'll give you a proper tourist's guided tour" he promised.

Sybil had visited more modest homes of several friends and acquaintances in the past, although the boarding school she had attended meant that most of her classmates came from families who enjoyed an affluent lifestyle. The luxury of space and comfort offered by Downton Abbey held little importance in her mind and she considered Tom to be so in tune with her in terms of ideals and ambition, that their familial differences felt wholly irrelevant. Yet as he opened the gate before the modest terraced house which for him represented home, Sybil was finally struck by the material gulf between them and for the first time fully appreciated how intimidating his visits to her family may have felt.

Aware of her fleeting falter of step, he turned towards her with a smile. "Alight?" he asked lightly. "We can have a cup of tea before Mam gets in, she'll be half an hour or so yet. You can relax a bit before you start trying to impress her."

"Will I need to, do you think?" Sybil asked, the first hint of anxiety about their visit articulated now that it had become a tangible reality.

Tom turned his key and pushed unsuccessfully, before giving the bottom of the door a swift kick and staggering inelegantly into the hallway.

"The door's sticking again" he said needlessly before turning with a smile. "She'll love you, why wouldn't she? I'm only joking with you."

Sybil followed him into the narrow hallway, soon illuminated by the flick of a switch and stood motionless while Tom continued blithely towards the kitchen at its far end.

"Come on, I'll put the kettle on!" he called and she moved the few paces forward to the doorframe, looking around at the compact space – white Formica cupboard doors and mock granite surfaces, a stainless steel sink with the morning's breakfast dishes stacked clean to dry alongside and a tiny table pressed against one wall, two wooden chairs pushed carefully underneath.

He seemed to sense her thoughts. "Not quite what you're used to, eh?" and she shook her head, accompanying it with a deliberate shrug of the shoulders.

"Does it matter? It's a kitchen, it does what it says on the tin! It's nice."

"We've got a larger table in the other room by the way, we won't all be sitting on each other's laps in here. My Dad knocked through to make one big room, although not quite Downton big…"

She winced with discomfort. "Stop comparing" she interrupted and he met her gaze with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, I just can't help but suddenly see it through your eyes."

"It's your home…" she pressed. "…so I love it" and he gave her a grateful smile before picking up the kettle and filling it from the tap.

"Mam changed all the cupboard doors a couple of years back, updated it. So it still looks odd to me, I always think it's going to be how it was before, I forget."

He showed her the living room, cosy and welcoming with a burgundy sofa and matching armchairs curled around the fireplace and TV. The dining table and chairs were set back in what had once been the other room and Sybil could appreciate how tiny each had been before the wall was removed. She peered curiously at family photographs adorning shelves adjacent to the chimney, recognising his parents, siblings and nieces from pictures he displayed in his room in Ripon.

"Aw Tom, you were so cute!" she declared, laughing out loud at a scene of three children posing on a sandy beach in their swimwear. His elder brother knelt proudly, his back erect, beaming at the camera. His sister, still a toddler and sitting flanked by her brothers, held a spade aloft, her mauve sunhat slipping precariously to one side, obscuring one eye. And Tom, so obviously Tom with those bright blue eyes and cheerful smile, lay on his stomach, his arms pressed down on the sand, legs crossed in the air behind him.

"_Were_ cute?" he demanded with an acute gasp, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Don't you mean _are_ cute?"

Sybil turned her face solemnly around. "No, I meant were" she replied, then squealed as he squeezed her tightly, tickling her with his fingers. "Okay, okay…" she gasped eventually. "You are very, very cute Tom Branson, I confess!"

They were back in the kitchen and drinking tea when sounds of a key in the lock were audible. A pause, followed by a hefty shove led to Anne-Marie Branson making her first appearance.

"Hi darlin'!" she called cheerfully as she hung up her coat on a nearby hook and Tom jumped to his feet to greet her. Slowly and experiencing an abrupt wave of shyness, Sybil curled a strand of hair carefully behind an ear and arranged her features into a more confident smile.

"Ah, hello Sybil. It's lovely to meet you at last!" Anne-Marie shook her proffered hand with a friendly beam, before returning her gaze to her son.

"Any tea in that pot, love?" she asked.

"It'll be getting cold, I'll make you another. Sit down."

Sybil was immediately struck by Anne-Marie's youthful features; she was so obviously from a different generation than her own parents. Tom had once explained that his mother had married very young and although she didn't know the precise details, knew that Kieran was twenty-seven and Tom three years younger. Orla had apparently been a _'happy surprise'_ four years later. With a slim figure and well cared for shoulder length brown hair which may or may not have been dyed, Sybil guessed that Anne-Marie had not yet reached her half-century.

They chatted amiably with questions about their journey and respective jobs as Tom's mother began to visibly unwind after her day at work, bringing in another chair from the dining room and stretching her bare feet under the table with a contented sigh. She came across as friendly and upbeat, despite the tragedy and hardships which life had unexpectedly brought her way in recent years. Minutes later, Orla arrived home, physically tired from patrolling the pool over several hours and audibly frustrated by the antics of teenage boys who, having finished their exams and free for the summer, had caused havoc amongst the usually gentile and elderly mid-afternoon swimmers.

"Little shits, the lot of them!" she declared in a triumphant manner, shaking her long brown hair out of its ponytail and swinging around to grin at Sybil.

"Hi there, welcome to Dublin! I've been dying to meet you! I'm not sure what I was expecting, but you seem…" she frowned momentarily "…quite ordinary really."

"Orla!" her mother admonished, turning her head in an apology to Sybil but her daughter clarified without any evident embarrassment.

"Oh I didn't mean that in a nasty way. I just meant, being the daughter of an Earl and all that…perhaps I thought you were going to come in wearing a tiara on your head, I dunno!" She expelled a peal of laughter at her own joke, while Sybil heard Tom mutter.

"Oh for fuck's sake…" quietly under his breath.

"Anyway…" It seemed that Orla did not possess an ounce of subtlety. "…what are you doing with our Tom then? It must be a right come down!" She laughed again and Sybil exchanged an amused grin with Tom, who was shaking his head in apparent mortification.

"Friday!" Orla announced suddenly, raising a finger aloft and looking around to ensure that she had everyone's attention. "The Gatehouse bar. Loads of people going. There's a band later. You both have to come."

"We _have_ to come…" Tom repeated, his eyebrows raised. "What if we already…"

"Yes" Orla replied, ignoring the latter half of her brother's query. "You totally have to!" And with that, she turned on her heel and swept into the hall, turning around to the stairs and giving an involuntary shout as she tripped over Tom's bag on the bottom step.

"That's a fuckin' stupid place to leave it, Tom!" she called cheerfully and Anne-Marie covered her face with her hands.

"Oh my Lord, her language! I'm so sorry, Sybil."

"Don't worry, I've heard far worse." Sybil laughed. Orla's brash and whirlwind entrance seemed to have cleared the air of the stilted chit-chat it had succeeded.

Tom rose to his feet. "I'll move our bags." he declared and then hesitated, asking awkwardly. "Where are we sleeping, Mam?"

Anne-Marie cleared her throat and met her son's gaze head on. "I've put Sybil in the little bedroom. You'll be sharing with Orla."

He nodded wordlessly, before Orla bellowed from above. "You'd better not snore, Tom!"

"I don't snore!" he retorted loudly and Sybil smiled.

"Actually, you do sometimes" she said before falling silent with an immediate blush at the implication.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. "Right!" Anne-Marie said loudly to nobody in particular. "Better get changed and then on with dinner."

"I'll just move those bags" Tom said almost simultaneously and Sybil was left sitting alone in the kitchen, torn between amusement and contrition.

ooOoo

They explored Dublin by day – touring the city by open-aired bus and investigating the main sights which took Sybil's interest. In the evenings they either strolled to a pub, or cooked dinner for Anne-Marie and Orla, sitting around the dining room table until late with glasses of wine and increasingly easy conversation. Despite ardent attempts, they couldn't persuade Anne-Marie to come out with them for a drink. Tom quietly explained that his mother had lost a great deal of social confidence since her husband's death. The self-assurance she displayed with her immediate friends and family, as well as apparently at work, was not forthcoming amongst strangers or in a place with which she wasn't familiar. Orla, however, required very little persuasion to accompany them when invited and Sybil grew to feel very fond of Tom's gregarious but ultimately warm-hearted sister.

They travelled down to Bray on Thursday and Tom booked a hotel, promising Orla that they would return for her highly anticipated night out the following evening. Sybil protested at the expense – her carefully planned saving schedule for the year had gone awry during the early months of their relationship. She insisted on paying her way and during those first days of heady infatuation and finally requited lust, they were liberal with their expenditure on meals out and the occasional hotel room – privacy from Tom's curious housemates. Now the reality of her situation was taking hold and on her return from Ireland, she would be dropping her voluntary shift at the residential home and making herself available for an additional day at the coffee shop. With careful budgeting, she was confident that she could reach father's target figure of four and a half thousand pounds, but there would be little to spare for the remainder of the summer.

Tom insisted on covering all of the costs of their excursion, desperate to have Sybil's exclusive company for twenty-four hours and be free from the restraints of his mother's conservative sleeping arrangements. He wasn't going to quarrel with the rules she made for her own home, but if he was honest, he had expected Orla to move back into her smaller childhood bedroom for the brief duration of their visit. There were two single beds in the larger room after all, so he felt that their mother's moral sensibilities wouldn't have been wholly compromised. Feeling triumphantly defiant, he had made love to Sybil on Tuesday morning after Anne-Marie and Orla had left for work and then spent all day fretting whether or not his mother would spot the evidence on the sheets at the end of the week. Frustrated by his ongoing articulated worries, Sybil stripped the bed the following morning, thrust the sheets into his arms and pointed emphatically at the washing machine.

They wandered along the sea front in Bray, bought fish and chips to enjoy on the stony beach below and enjoyed the warmth of summer sun on their faces, even with an inevitable accompanying breeze. Sybil greedily sucked her fingers clean of tangy salt and sour vinegar, simultaneously savouring and wincing at the taste.

"It's been so lovely to have a few days off work this week." she admitted and Tom nodded in agreement.

"It's been a while for both of us, Christmas I guess?"

Sybil leant back on her hands and stretched her legs out, wiggling her heels until they were partially submerged in the stones. "I definitely want to do more travelling at some point. Not just a week's holiday here and there, but go off for a couple of months or maybe more."

Tom smiled. "There are so many places I want to go, it would take me a year at least to do it all."

She turned to face him. "Where do you want to go most of all? What's at the top of your list?"

"I want to go on a safari." he said slowly and Sybil drew her legs in, crossing them underneath her and leaning forward, her curiosity raised.

He continued slowly, lifting up a handful of pebbles and glancing down while he tipped them from one hand to another. "I don't really mind where – Kenya, Tanzania, South Africa, any one will do, I just want to see all those animals in their natural habitat and experience sleeping in a tent somewhere in the wild. And then I'd also like to go and visit my cousins in Melbourne."

"I didn't know you had cousins over there."

He gave a quizzical look. "Have I not told you that before? Okay, well my Dad's elder sister moved out there about twenty years ago. She's got twin boys, about six months younger than me and we were all apparently as thick as thieves when we were toddlers. Then they came back for a holiday when I was sixteen and we still got on really well. I'm on Facebook and the like with them and they're always saying that I should go over there to stay. I'd love to."

"I'd love to climb over Sydney Harbour Bridge!" said Sybil with sudden enthusiasm. "And watch a sunset over Ayres Rock. And see crocodiles which aren't in a zoo. And go on a bush walk. And…um…drive along the Great Ocean Road. And go to Bondi Beach, I don't care how touristy that might be!"

Tom laughed. "Well there you go, that's a month or two of travels just in one country."

"Perhaps I'll have to go away for six months then."

"You'd better start asking Janine for even more shifts and start saving."

Sybil sighed. "Perhaps I'd better concentrate on my uni budget for the time being. I've got less than three months when we get back and then I'm off."

"Yes"

There was a long pause, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts of separation and uncertainty. Sybil broke the silence, avoiding eye contact and staring at the sea in apparent rapt concentration.

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't going, you know."

"Don't say that, Syb." His voice was etched with conflicting sentiment and she picked up on it immediately.

"I don't mean not go to uni at all. Sorry, I know I'm lucky to have the chance and you didn't have yours. I mean going to Brighton, that's all."

"But you said it was the best course." His voice held a pressing quality as he struggled to balance his fears with a desire for her to ultimately succeed.

"Well I felt it was the best for what I wanted to do. But of course there are other really good courses too, it wouldn't make that much of a difference. At the time I wanted to get far away from home. I was desperate for that independence without my parents turning up at a moment's notice to check up on me."

He tried very hard to keep his voice neutral in tone. "And now it seems a bit far away?"

"From you, yes." Her gaze met his and he smiled – relief interwoven with gratitude, but each tainted with a heady sense of foreboding.

"I'll come and visit you know?" he said and slipped his arm comfortably around her shoulders, pulling her in close.

"I know you will and I'll come home for weekends as well. I just…"

"What?" He tipped his head in an attempt to read her expression and watched her take a deep breath.

"I just didn't expect this when I made my choices."

He gave a solemn nod and then offered another squeeze. "You didn't expect to meet such a dashing, handsome, charming young man you mean?"

"Something like that, yes." She gave his knee a light slap and smiled before her head drooped.

"Come on Syb. It's daunting to go away for the first time, that's understandable, you know? Everyone else'll be in the same boat."

"It's not that. I've been away before. I was in the States for over three months last summer, I'm not nervous of being on my own."

He emitted a deep, involuntary sigh, reflecting on his well-founded fears about her departure. "Well we don't know what's going to happen, do we? We'll just have to see how it all goes."

As she turned her face to his once again, he spotted self-doubt in her eyes and held his breath for a second in anticipation of what she might be about to say.

"The thing is…"

"Yes…" He could feel his heart hammering, uncertain whether or not her imminent declaration was likely to be positive.

"I love you, Tom." Her face began to turn crimson but simultaneously, she laughed happily at his expression of evident delight. Giggling in unison, he leant forward for an ardent kiss.

"I love you as well, Syb. I really do. Completely and utterly. But…"

"…I know, I know. It's crap timing really, isn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Why couldn't you be happy working in a coffee shop in Ripon for the next few years?" he teased.

"Because then I wouldn't be the girl you love." They exchanged a knowing smile before Sybil pressed on. "And you wouldn't be the boy I love if you really wanted only that for either of us."

And in that, she had his wholehearted agreement.

ooOoo

Sybil was already sitting in the living room, casually flicking through one of his mother's magazines, when Tom emerged from the bathroom early on Friday evening and made his way downstairs.

"You look lovely" he said with a smile, savouring the image of her tight fitting jeans and calf length suede boots – her _best_ boots, he knew that.

"I'm having a bad hair day, it's gone all frizzy." She twirled a strand of hair around two fingers and pulled at it, glaring sideways as if that might tame it into submission.

He loved her hair loose and wild around her shoulders, but knew better than to contradict her entirely. "Well it looks nice to me, but what do I know? Why don't you ask Orla to help you do something with it? She's good at that kind of thing, or so she tells me anyway."

"Do you think she'd do a french plait for me, like she sometimes wears?"

"I'm sure she would. She's in her room, singing loudly…and badly. Please go and interrupt her and make her stop."

With a grin, she jumped to her feet and left the room while Tom picked up the discarded magazine, turning the pages to find the advertised interview with a well-known actress who graced the front cover.

Hearing a light cough, he turned his head to see his mother standing in the doorway. Barefooted and wearing leggings with a baggy blue plaid shirt, she leant against the nearby wall and wore an fond smile.

"Will you be wanting something to eat before you go out?"

He shook his head. "No, we'll get something at the pub, thanks though." He paused. "Are you sure we can't persuade you to come with us? We don't have to be late back."

"No you're alright, love." She moved beside him on the sofa and patted his knee with affection. "I can't think of anything worse nowadays than being in a packed and noisy bar, to be honest. I've got a DVD, my magazine, some wine in the fridge. I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet night."

"And you're sure you don't mind us going out on our last night here?"

"Of course not! We've had plenty of lovely evenings together this week and you're not leaving until late tomorrow afternoon. I'll see you after your hangovers have all receded."

"I'll try not to leave it as long coming back next time, Mam."

She smiled and leant her head back on the sofa, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "No plans to come back again to live then, Tom?" she asked gently. "Brakes Garage is moving to larger premises in the autumn, so I hear. They'll be hiring."

He swallowed deeply. "Not at the moment, Mam. I like where I am for the time being."

"And what's going to happen when Sybil goes to uni? Will you follow her down to Brighton?"

"I've no plans to move in the near future, no. We'll see how it goes. She needs to settle in and make some friends, get used to the course. She'll be back every holiday and I'll go down and visit whenever I can."

His mother gave a heavy sigh. "She's so young. You both are. Don't be in a hurry to tie yourself down too quickly, love."

"She's nineteen! You were married at her age. With a baby on the way!"

"And look what good that did me!" It was said with uncharacteristic bitterness and he couldn't help but feel instinctively defensive.

"Do you wish you hadn't had us then?"

Anne-Marie turned to face him, her expression etched with palpable regret. "Of course not, darlin'" she said softly, gently taking his hand. "But we were supposed to spend our twenties having kids, our thirties and forties bringing them up and seeing them into the big wide world, then go and have some fun together before we got too old. But instead, your Dad dropped down dead at forty five and left us all in a right mess."

"But you're OK now, for money I mean?"

"Yes, it's fine, don't worry about it. But now Kieran's followed the same path as me – married with two kids and another on the way and so I look at you and Orla and hope you'll get to do all the things we didn't."

"Like what?" he asked gently.

Anne-Marie gave a frustrated gasp. "Oh, go and see the world! Jump off one of those big bridge things with an elastic rope…"

He began to chuckle. "A bungee jump? Are you actually encouraging me to do that? Most parents are begging their kids not to!"

"Oh Tom, just do something different before life becomes simply working day in, day out and coming home to a house full of kids who demand your every moment. While you're still young enough to make the most of it all and enjoy it. Everything else can wait, there's no hurry. Create some exciting memories."

He nodded his head, serious again now at the sentiment behind her advice. "And why can't I do all that _with_ Sybil? Neither of us are in any hurry to settle down, you know."

She narrowed her eyes. "She's a lovely girl, Tom, don't get me wrong, but…"

The silence was too lengthy and pointed for him to bear. "What?" he said more gruffly than he intended.

"She's not like us. They'll want something different for her, I should imagine."

He shook his head. "She doesn't want that life. She'll make her own choices."

"And will that include you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "We'll have to wait and see."

* * *

_**Coming next – Tom visits Sybil in Brighton and enjoys a taste of student life. **_


End file.
